The Sims Medieval: The Kingdom of Ortagg
by ConKipcha
Summary: When Lord Ergast found the ruins of a castle, it was only right that he build a much better  though admittedly similar  castle in its place, forge a mighty kingdom, and promptly outlaw incompetence. Welcome to Ortagg: Home of the Well-Fed Pit Beast.


Prologue – From Across the Sea

It was a generally miserable and damp voyage, and by the time the ship reached the dock-less beach most of the crew were about ready to cash in their sea legs for some hammers and building equipment. This would come back to haunt them in short order, as their employer had travelled to this land for the express purpose of building a castle in which to live. Still, for the time being, they departed from the leaky old tub with something approaching euphoria and capered about on the sand, doing their best to ignore the dour face looking down at them from the prow of the ship.

Lord Ergast the First had done nothing so much as contribute to the miserable atmosphere on the ship, and had done so with relish. He was quite in the habit of sending food back to the galley for no reason more than a misplaced garnish, and was so against eating gruel that he'd sent a sailor on deck during a squall to catch him something more appealing to his pallet. When the hapless sailor was consequently washed overboard, Ergast's sole comment on the whole tragic affair was, "Even the sharks are receiving a better meal than I."

For all that the Lord dressed in fine clothes, with fur trim and rich material, he was not a handsome man to any but himself. His face was far too thin and pale, and his sharply hooked nose made his sneer and scowl all the more intimidating. His hair was thin in texture but thick in amount, and he kept it clean and combed. It was, perhaps, the only appealing feature he owned.

As Ergast continued to look down on the ridiculous antics of the crew, wondering how to make them stop acting like utter ninnies, he was joined at the prow by his royal advisor and professional soundboard Jalen. No one quite knew why Jalen was so loyal to Ergast, particularly when the lord turned his sharp tongue on Jalen as soon as anyone else, but that was simply how it was. Jalen wore his light blonde hair loose and to his shoulders, and grew a thin strip of a beard on his chin that, Ergast frequently commented, was reminiscent of a Billy goat.

"We've arrived, milord."

"You don't say." Ergast's eyes never left the beach, "And here I thought our navigator steered us into an uncharted island where our crew could interact with sentient apes to improve their gene pools."

Jalen smiled, and gestured at the steep hillside leading up and away from the sand, "If the map you found in Duchess Beverly's library is correct, the remains of Castle Vermenkrakk should be up that incline."

"That's far more informative." Ergast sent a last glower toward the sailors before turning from the railing and heading for the gangplank, "The sooner we can give those fools something constructive to do, the better."

/

It took over an hour to reach the ruins of Castle Vermenkrakk, and Ergast had to admit that the building was in much better condition than he'd let himself believe. Of course, he only admitted this to himself, in the private and impenetrable recesses of his mind. Out loud, he regarded the structure with disdain, "It's most likely unusable. Still, there's no harm in investigating what the old heathens considered architecturally pleasing."

The main audience chamber was predominantly intact, if ravaged by the elements. There was a shallow hole in the middle of the room, haphazardly ringed with stones, and when he moved closer Ergast could see the remains of ancient ashes. Clearly, the Vermenkrakk war chief hadn't been opposed to his warriors cooking their meat in the same room where he'd sat his throne. In fact, as he took in the fireplaces in the northeast and northwest corners, and the remains of crockery within them, he realized that they'd done _all_ of their cooking here.

"How uncivilized."

Though there were some features he approved of. The throne, at least what was left of it, and several chairs clearly meant for other high-ranking officials were set behind a fence-like partition. Anyone who wished to approach the throne would have to be funnelled through the opening, reducing crowding and preventing the sideways shuffles toward the monarch that Ergast couldn't stand. He took in the remnants of a grimgoat-skull plaque on the floor beside the decrepit throne, and nudged it with his toe. Perhaps not as inviting as a painting, but it certainly got the point across.

"My lord," Jalen called from a side-room, "perhaps you should come see this."

Grumbling to himself as he went, simply because he could, Ergast strode into the side room and came to a sudden and surprised stop. Bones of an entirely different nature lay here, scattered about and intermixed with each other. Most of them were unquestionably human, and the rusted weapons lying amongst them told of a great battle. What captivated him most, however, was the dragon skull with its jaws clamped onto a human ribcage. From what he'd read on the species it wasn't a particularly old dragon, perhaps a quarter of a century, and from the size of the skull he would hazard a guess that it had been of a size with a draft horse, when alive.

"So it's true." He knelt by the skeleton and ran a gloved hand over the skull, "The Vermenkrakki were felled by dragons. How disappointing."

For a moment longer he regarded the long-dead dragon, and then he was back on his feet and issuing orders, "Get the men up here and working before they fall to drink. I want these bones sorted back into their respective species, so that we may set up something of a gallery. As for the rest of the castle, I want it visually identical to as it was, but much sturdier. We brought a competent build master with us, did we not?"

"Yes, milord, Build Master Jessie," Jalen followed Ergast back into the main audience chamber, taking notes on a sheaf of paper he'd pulled from his belt pouch.

"Good. Get his arse up here." Ergast wasn't going to question how his advisor had uncorked an ink vial and wet a quill so quickly. It was simply his job to do so. He went to continue exploring the ruin, but paused in front of the throne. After a quick weighing of thoughts as to whether it was good luck or bad to sit on a dead man's throne, he dismissed the superstition as utter codswallop and climbed the steps. The cushioning on the seat had long disappeared, its materials having been taken by mice and birds, but he ignored the discomfort of the stone seat as he looked at the chamber before him and, past that, through the door-less front entrance at the land beyond.

"I shall call my kingdom Ortagg," he announced to the all-but-empty room, hearing the words echo off the ceiling, "and it shall be great."


End file.
